


Thank God For Self Restraint

by SpiderButler



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Fluff, implied smutt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 18:44:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4846283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiderButler/pseuds/SpiderButler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where Captain Swan hasn't happened yet, Emma didn't leave Hook on the beanstalk, Hook's trying to be a gentleman, and Emma's drunk off her ass</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank God For Self Restraint

The Rabbit Hole is not unfriendly, or uncomfortable. It has a musky, ethereal atmosphere, which reminds Killian of the taverns he frequented back in the Enchanted Forest. What _is_ uncomfortable (though not unfriendly) is the really rather intoxicated ( _intoxicating_ ) blonde woman, who is giggling and leaning most of her body weight on his shoulder. He wants to wrap an arm around her waist to keep her upright, but he’s never encountered drunk Emma Swan before, and if she’s anything like sober Emma Swan, it would probably only end with a black eye. The beer she holds in her hand slops around dangerously, threatening to spill over the top as she sways, and he reaches for it, pulling it gently out of her hand and placing it on the bar behind them. Ruby makes an unreadable face at him from a couple of feet away, but it doesn’t seem distrustful, more curious than anything. He’s still grateful to Emma, probably always will be, for trusting him and bringing him back with her mother, for letting him be a part of this town. He knows that Cora is still out there, and that if (when) she gets to Storybrooke, it won’t be pretty for any of them, but he’s seen the residents of Storybrooke at work, and he’s thinks maybe Cora’s met her match this time. 

However, he hopes that the sorceress doesn’t decide to show up in the next 24 hours, as the Savior seems rather unable to do much but giggle and hiccup at the moment. It seems that the return of Baelfire, and Tamara, and Henry’s anger at her and all the other things in her life got a bit too much, and she dealt with it the same way Killian had dealt with his own problems over most of his life- by drinking until he forgot his own name. 

At that moment, she slips, and Killian barely manages to grab her before she hits the floor, trying to help her back up without digging his hook into her side. Once she’s back on her feet, he settles back on his stool, but she sways towards him, bracing herself weakly with her hands on his thighs, and her shoulders tight. Her face is inches away from his and she smiles at him happily. This smile is different from the usual tight-lipped, short-lived smiles he receives from her. This one is free of any tension, gentle and kind, and it makes him go soft. He can’t help but smile back and she grins even wider.

Her grip is slowly inching its way up his thighs, and he wraps his hand around her wrist, preventing her movement. If she got any higher he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself, and he’s been delicately creating a (positive) name for himself in the small town and in Emma’s mind, and he will not ruin that now by pulling her onto his lap and kissing her senseless.

She giggles again, and moves her hands to wrap around his own wrists and pull him closer. His face is barely centimeters from hers now, and he can see the brown ring around her pupils, blending into the green. She seems to be studying his eyes in the same way, but there’s a haziness in hers from the alcohol, and their movement is slow as they look between his. 

“Your eyes are very pretty.” She smiles. _So are yours._

She lifts a hand to trace the scar on his cheek and his breath catches as her finger runs over his skin with a feather light touch. 

“I always wondered about how you got this.” Her palm rests solidly against his cheek now, and images of a much more intimate setting flash through his mind- _Emma lying in his arms, curled up in bed, tracing patterns on bare skin. Killian cradling her face as they kiss, and her hands on his chest, fisted in his shirt._ He’s pulled out of these fantasies by Emma retracting her hand, placing it on his forearm. The other sits on his left shoulder, and Killian thinks, from the pressure, that she’s trying to cover up the unsteadiness of her stance. She lifts it, experimentally, and beams proudly at Killian when she doesn’t fall. He can’t help the chuckle that falls from his lips. 

“Are you laughing at me, Captain Hook?” She slurs, pointing a finger waveringly at his nose. 

“Never, Swan.” He says solemnly, but it’s ruined by the laugh that spills out at her glare (squinted eyes that look like she’s looking at something a little too bright). 

“You are!” She pouts, and Killian thinks how ridiculous this is. This is Emma Swan. Emma Swan doesn’t joke, she fights and she protects. He can’t believe how in love with this woman he already is, and he barely even really knows her. 

“I’ll tell you what’s silly,” Emma rambles drunkenly. “Your name.” 

“My name?” Killian asks, unable to control the smile on his lips. 

“Yes.” Emma nods firmly. “Who even came up with the name ‘Captain Hook’?” 

“Well, I guess it comes from _the hook_ , love.” He waves the appendage in front of her face, and her eyes latch onto it, following it. She grabs his brace-covered wrist and pulls it closer, examining it like she’s never seen it before. He watches her closely, for even a hint of fear, but he sees none. She traces one hand up the brace and over the hook, fingertips trailing over the metal and it sends a coil of tension into Killian’s stomach. No one’s touched his hook like that before, much less a beautiful woman who totally captivates him, and it's one of the most attractive things he’s ever seen. Just the touch is sending a heat around his body and under his skin, and he swallows, and softly pulls his wrist away from her, and she giggles childishly, sending warmth to his heart. 

“Maybe we should be getting you home now, lass.” She looks like a child who’s been told that they can’t have any cake, and he smiles again, which she frowns at. 

“I don’t want to go home. Home isn’t fun. Home is where Henry hates me.” She says the last words quietly, but Killian hears them, and his face softens. He pushes himself off the stool and wraps a hand gently around Emma’s forearm to guide her forward. 

“I don’t think the lad hates you, Swan.” He keeps an arm braced around her in preparation as they begin to walk. He catches Ruby’s eye again, and she smiles softly at him, her face unreadable again. He just nods in reply, before turning his attention back to Emma. 

“He does.” Emma says softly, and Killian can hear the sadness in the words. 

“It’s been a rough time for him recently, ‘s’all.” Killian says, as they leave the bar, him holding the door open. He decides to forego her yellow steel carriage (he can’t drive, and in this state, neither can she), and steers her in the direction of her parent’s apartment, hoping maybe the walk will help to sober her up a bit. “His father’s made a reappearance in his life, and he’s found out all sorts of weird family ties,” the words come out a little bitterly as he thinks about the boy’s newly discovered grandfather. “It’s taking him a while to adjust- he is after all, going to have three mothers soon.” 

Emma’s jaw clenches at the mention of Tamara, and Killian decides it might be a good idea to change the subject. “Now tell me, Swan, how much alcohol do you think you managed to put away tonight?” 

She glares at him again, but there’s humor in her eyes, and he relaxes. “I seem to remember _you_ downing a couple of glasses of rum.” Her speech is a little clearer, and he almost pulls out his flask, missing friendly (affectionate) Emma Swan, but he stops himself- that would be taking advantage. However, Emma’s thoughts seem to have travelled down a similar path and she says “Speaking of rum, where’s yours?” 

He pulls out the flask, but hesitates before handing it to her. “Are you sure you want more, lass?” 

She takes it from him, unscrewing the top as she speaks. “We both know I’m going to have a killer hangover tomorrow, Hook, so I might as well keep going.” Killian hopes for her sake that her parents are already asleep- there’s no way she’s going to be sober by the time she gets home. 

She downs a large amount of the beverage, offering the flask back to Killian, who takes it, but sips only a little. One of them needs to stay alert. Emma continues to gulp down most of the flask, and by the time they’re on her street she’s back to the state she was in at the bar, stumbling and slurring. Hook takes her keys and unlocks the doors for her. He makes her take off her shoes before they enter the apartment, in hopes that she’ll be a little quieter without them on. Luckily the lights are all off when they open the door, and Killian breathes a sigh of relief. They might be able to get Emma in bed without her parents seeing her, and they’d never know how intoxicated their daughter had been. Emma sways and falls, and Hook swears under his breath as he catches her. Maybe he spoke to soon. 

He pulls Emma back onto her feet, and supports her over to the sofa, where she collapses back down. She attempts to curl up, but Killian refuses to let her. “No you don’t.” 

“So comfy,” Emma mumbles, turning her face into the sofa cushion. “Wanna sleep.” 

“You can sleep, love, but when you get to bed.” Emma mutters incoherently, but she lets Killian help her up and he tries to support her as much as possible without really touching her- Emma’s got affectionate again and Killian has too much alcohol in his system to be able to stop her (or himself) if she really tried to do anything. 

Once they get to her bed, Emma drops her boots with a thump, and Killian freezes, hoping that it hasn’t woken her parents. They would not be happy to find him in their (drunk) daughter’s bedroom in the wee hours of the morning. He looks up to see Emma pulling her shirt over her head, her jacket discarded on the bed, and he gulps at the skin slowly exposing itself. The fabric gets stuck just before it gets to the level that Killian feels he really should to turn away (although he’s frozen to the spot, his eyes glued to the increasing amount of exposed skin). He gulps again and thinks desperately about kittens, until he hears Emma’s muffled slur. 

“’m stuck.” Killian stays where he is, unsure how to approach the situation. Emma’s hands wave from where they are in the air and the sight would be comical if Killian didn’t have something in his throat and his chest stopping him breathing. “Help please.” 

He cautiously steps forward, until he’s right in front of her. He grabs the hem in his hand and gently pulls it over her head. He forces himself to keep his eyes on her face, not daring to look any lower, for fear of what could happen if he did. Emma smiles dopily once she’s free and points to her jeans. Killian shakes his head, eyes wide. 

“I think you should do that, love.” He chokes out. Emma pouts, but gets up, and undoes the button. When she begins to pull the fabric down, Killian pins his eyes to the floor, closing them when he hears the clothing hit the floor, trying not to imagine Emma in just her black undergarments. There’s rustling, and then he hears footsteps. A hand touches his cheek and he hesitates but opens his eyes. Emma stands in front of him, now dressed in baggy gray pants and a loose shirt. It’s a much lazier, friendlier look on Emma, and all the tension that had been building low in his belly at the idea of Emma in her underwear, on the bed, dissipates, and turns into a dull ache in his heart at the sight of her all soft and sleepy. She smiles at him, and its absent, but still sweet, and Killian smiles back gently. 

“Bed now,” he says softly, like he’s talking to a child, and Emma nods. He follows her to the bedside, watching for any sign of a fall. She gets in bed safely, and she’s out as soon as her head hits the pillow. 

Killian strokes a hand over her hair, combing through it. He finds a glass in a cupboard in the kitchen, and fills it with water, placing it on the nightstand. He smiles down at the sleeping woman, before tearing himself from her bedside, and heading to the stairs. He turns back just before he descends, taking one last (possibly ever) look at Emma Swan in bed. 

“Goodnight, Swan. Sweet dreams.”


End file.
